I DID NOT FEEL THE USUAL GUILT WHEN I RETURNED TO BELLA’S ROOM that night, though I knew I should. But it felt like the correct course of action—the only right thing to be doing. I was there to burn my throat as much as possible. I would train myself to ignore her scent. It could be accomplished. I would not allow this to be a difficulty between us.
Easier said than done. But I knew this helped. Practice. Embrace the pain, let that be the strongest reaction. Beat the element of desire entirely out of myself.
There was no peace in Bella’s dreams. And no peace for me, watching her twitch restlessly and hearing her whisper my name over and over. The physical pull, that overwhelming chemistry from the darkened classroom, was even stronger here in her night-black bedroom. Though she was not aware of my presence, she seemed to feel it, too.
She woke herself more than once. The first time she did not open her eyes; she merely buried her head under her pillow and groaned. That was good luck for me—a second chance I didn’t deserve, since I didn’t put it to good use and leave as I should have. Instead, I sat on the floor in the farthest dark-shadowed corner of the room, and trusted that her human eyes would not spot me here.
She didn’t catch me, even the time that she got up and stalked to the bathroom for a glass of water. She moved angrily, perhaps frustrated that sleep still evaded her.
I wished there was some action I could take, as before with the warm blanket from the cupboard. But I could only watch as I burned, useless to her. It was a relief when she finally sank into a dreamless unconsciousness.
I was in the trees when the sky lightened from black to gray. I held my breath—this time to keep the scent of her from escaping. I refused to let the pure morning air erase the ache in my throat.
I listened to breakfast with Charlie, struggling again to find the words in his thoughts. It was fascinating—I could guess at the reasons behind the words he said aloud, almost feel his intentions, but they never resolved into full sentences the way everyone else’s thoughts did. I found myself wishing that his parents were still alive. It would be interesting to trace this genetic trait further back.
The combination of his inarticulate thoughts and his spoken words were enough for me to piece together his general mindset this morning. He was worried about Bella, physically and emotionally. He felt similarly concerned about the idea of Bella roaming Seattle alone as I would—only not quite so maniacally. Then again, his information was not as up-to-date as mine; he had no idea about the number of close calls she’d lived through recently.
She worded her reply to him very carefully, but it was only technically not a lie. She was obviously not planning to tell him about her change of plans. Or about me.
Charlie was also worried about the fact that she wasn’t going to the dance on Saturday. Was she disappointed about this? Was she feeling rejected? Were the boys at school cruel to her? He felt helpless. She didn’t look depressed, but he suspected that she would hide anything negative from him. He resolved to call her mother during the day and ask for advice.
At least, that was what I thought he was thinking. I might have misconstrued parts.
I retrieved my car while Charlie loaded his. As soon as he had driven around the corner, I pulled into the driveway to wait. I saw the curtain twitch in her window, then heard her stumbling footsteps race down the stairs.
I stayed in my seat, rather than get out to hold the door for her as I perhaps should have. But I thought it was more important to watch. She never acted the way I expected, and I needed to be able to anticipate correctly; I needed to study her, to learn the ways she moved when left to her own devices, to try to anticipate her motivations. She hesitated a moment outside the car, then let herself in with a small smile—a little shy, I thought.
She wore a dark, coffee-colored turtleneck today. It was not tight, but still fitted closely to her shape, and I missed the ugly sweater. It was safer.
This was supposed to be about her reactions, but I was abruptly overwhelmed with my own. I didn’t know how I could feel so peaceful with everything that was hanging over both our heads, but being with her was an antidote to pain and anxiety.
I took a deep breath through my nose—not every kind of pain—and smiled.
“Good morning. How are you today?”
The evidence of her restless night was obvious in her face. Her translucent skin hid nothing. But I knew she wouldn’t complain.
“Good, thank you,” she said with another smile.
“You look tired.”
She ducked, shaking her hair around her face in a move that seemed habitual. It obscured part of her left cheek. “I couldn’t sleep.”
I grinned at her. “Neither could I.”
She laughed, and I absorbed the sound of her happiness.
“I guess that’s right,” she said. “I suppose I slept just a little bit more than you did.”
“I’d wager you did.”
She peered at me around her hair, eyes lit up in a way I recognized. Curious. “So what did you do last night?”
I laughed quietly, glad I had an excuse not to lie to her. “Not a chance. It’s my day to ask questions.”
The little frown mark appeared between her eyebrows. “Oh, that’s right. What do you want to know?” Her tone was slightly skeptical, as though she couldn’t believe I had any real interest. She seemed to have no idea how curious I was.
There were so many things I didn’t know. I decided to start slow.
“What’s your favorite color?”
She rolled her eyes—still doubting my interest level. “It changes from day to day.”
“What’s your favorite color today?”
She thought for just a second. “Probably brown.”
I assumed she was mocking me, and my tone shifted to match her sarcasm. “Brown?”
“Sure,” she said, and then she was unexpectedly on the defensive. Perhaps I should have expected this. She never liked judgments. “Brown is warm. I miss brown. Everything that’s supposed to be brown—tree trunks, rocks, dirt—is all covered up with squashy green stuff here!”
Her tone brought back the sound of her sleeping complaint the other night. Too green—was this what she had meant? I stared at her, thinking how right she was. Honestly, looking into her eyes now, I realized that brown was my favorite, too. I couldn’t imagine any shade more beautiful.
“You’re right,” I told her. “Brown is warm.”
She started to blush a little and unconsciously retreated deeper into her hair. Carefully, bracing myself for any unexpected reaction, I swept her hair behind her shoulder so that I could have full access to her face again. The only reaction was a sudden increase in her heart rate.
I turned into the school lot and parked in the spot next to my usual place; Rosalie had taken that.
“What music is in your CD player right now?” I asked as I twisted the keys from the ignition. I’d never trusted myself that close to her while she’d slept, and the unknown teased me.
Her head cocked to the side, and it seemed as though she was trying to remember. “Oh, right,” she said. “It’s Linkin Park. Hybrid Theory.”
Not what I was expecting.
As I pulled the identical CD from my car’s music cache, I tried to imagine what this album meant to her. It didn’t seem to match any of her moods that I’d seen, but then, there was so much I didn’t know.
“Debussy to this?” I wondered.
She stared at the cover, and I could not understand her expression.
“Which is your favorite song?”
“Mmm,” she murmured, still looking at the cover art. “‘With You,’ I think.”
I thought through all the lyrics quickly. “Why that one?”
She smiled a little and shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
Well, that didn’t help much.
“Your favorite movie?”
She thought about her answer for a brief moment.
“I’m not sure I can pick just one.”
“Favorite movies, then?”
She nodded as she climbed out of the car. “Hmm. Definitely Pride and Prejudice, the six-hour one with Colin Firth. Vertigo. And… Monty Python and the Holy Grail. There are more… but I’m blanking.…”
“Tell me when you think of them,” I suggested as we walked toward her English class. “While you consider that, tell me what your favorite scent is.”
“Lavender. Or… maybe clean laundry.” She’d been looking straight ahead, but suddenly her eyes cut over to me for a second, and a faint pink colored her cheek.
“Was there more?” I prompted, wondering what that look meant.
“No. Just those.”
I wasn’t sure why she would omit part of her answer to such a simple query, but I rather thought she had.
“What candy do you like best?”
On this she was very decided. “Black licorice and Sour Patch Kids.”
I smiled at her enthusiasm.
We were at her classroom now, but she hesitated at the door. I, too, was in no hurry to separate from her.
“Where would you like to travel to most?” I asked—I assumed she was not going to tell me Comic Con.
She leaned her head to one side, her eyes narrowing in thought. Inside the classroom, Mr. Mason was clearing his throat to get the class’s attention. She was about to be late.
“Think about it and give me your answer at lunch,” I suggested.
She grinned and reached for the door, then turned back to look at me. Her smile faded, and the v appeared between her eyes.
I could have asked her what she was thinking, but that would have delayed her, possibly gotten her in trouble. And I thought I knew. At least, I knew how I felt, letting that door close between us.
I forced myself to smile encouragingly. She darted inside as Mr. Mason started to lecture.
I walked quickly to my own class, knowing I would spend the day ignoring everything around me again. I was disappointed, though, because no one spoke to her in any of her morning classes, so there was nothing new to learn. Just glimpses of her staring into space, her expression abstracted. The time dragged while I waited to see her again with my own eyes.
When she left her Trigonometry class, I was already in place, waiting for her. The other students stared and speculated, but Bella just hurried toward me with a smile.
“Beauty and the Beast,” she announced. “And The Empire Strikes Back. I know that’s everyone’s favorite, but…” She shrugged.
“For good reason,” I assured her.
We fell into step. Already it felt natural to shorten my stride, to lower my head so it was closer to hers.
“Did you think about my travel question?”
“Yes… I think Prince Edward Island. Anne of Green Gables, you know. But I’d also like to see New York. I’ve never been to a big city that was mostly vertical. Just sprawl places like LA and Phoenix. I’d like to try hailing a cab.” She laughed. “And then, if I can go anywhere, I’d want to go to England. See all the stuff I’ve been reading about.”
This led toward my next avenue of inquiry, but I wanted to be thorough before I moved on.
“Tell me your favorite places that you’ve already been.”
“Hmm. I liked the Santa Monica Pier. My mom said Monterey was better, but we never did get that far up the coast. We mostly stayed in Arizona; we didn’t have a lot of time for travel and she didn’t want to waste all of it in the car. She liked to visit places that were supposed to be haunted—Jerome, the Domes, pretty much any ghost town. We never saw any ghosts, but she said that was my fault. I was too skeptical, I scared them all away.” She laughed again. “She loves the Ren Faire, we go to the one in Gold Canyon every year.… Well, I missed it this year, I guess. Once we saw the wild horses at the Salt River. That was cool.”
“Where’s the farthest place from home you’ve ever been?” I asked, starting to become a little concerned.
“Here, I guess,” she said. “Farthest north from Phoenix, anyway. Farthest east—Albuquerque, but I was so young then, I don’t remember. Farthest west would probably be the beach in La Push.”
She went suddenly quiet. I wondered if she was thinking of her last visit to La Push, and all that she had discovered there. We were in the cafeteria line at this point, and she quickly picked out what she wanted rather than waiting for me to buy one of everything. She was also swift to pay for herself.
“You’ve never left the country?” I persisted once we reached our empty table. Part of me wondered if my sitting here had made it off-limits forever.
“Not yet,” she said cheerfully.
Though she’d only had seventeen years to explore, I still felt surprised. And… guilty. She’d seen so little, experienced such a meager amount of what life had to offer. It was impossible that she could truly know what she wanted now.
“Gattaca,” she said, chewing a bite of apple with a thoughtful expression. She hadn’t noticed my sudden mood shift. “That was a good one. Have you seen it?”
“Yes. I liked it, too.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
I shook my head and smiled. “It’s not your turn.”
“Seriously, I’m so boring. You must be out of questions.”
“It’s my day,” I reminded her. “And I’m not at all bored.”
She pursed her lips, as though she wanted to argue some more about my interest level, but then she smiled. I guessed she didn’t really believe me, but had decided she would be fair about it. This was my day to ask questions.
“Tell me about books.”
“You can’t make me choose a favorite,” she insisted almost fiercely.
“I won’t. Tell me everything you like.”
“Where do I start? Um, Little Women. That was the first big book I read. I still read it pretty much every year. Everything Austen, though I’m not a huge fan of Emma—”
Austen I already knew, having seen her battered anthology the day she read outside, but I wondered at the exclusion.
“Why not?”
“Ugh, she’s so full of herself.”
I grinned and she continued without prompting.
“Jane Eyre. I read that one pretty often, too. That’s my idea of a heroine. Everything by any Brontë. To Kill a Mockingbird, obviously. Fahrenheit 451. All of the Chronicles of Narnia, but especially The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Gone with the Wind. Douglas Adams and David Eddings and Orson Scott Card and Robin McKinley. Did I already say L. M. Montgomery?”
“I assumed as much from your travel hopes.”
She nodded, then looked conflicted. “Did you want more? I’m going on too much.”
“Yes,” I assured her. “I want more.”
“These aren’t in any kind of order,” she cautioned me. “My mom had a bunch of Zane Grey paperbacks. Some of them were pretty good. Shakespeare, mostly the comedies.” She grinned. “See, out of order. Um, everything by Agatha Christie. Anne McCaffrey’s dragon books… and speaking of great dragons, Jo Walton’s Tooth and Claw. The Princess Bride, much better than the movie…” She tapped her finger against her lips. “There are a million more, but I’m blanking again.”
She looked a little stressed.
“That’s enough for now.” She’d done more exploring in fiction than in reality, and I was surprised she’d listed a book I’d not yet read—I would have to find a copy of Tooth and Claw.
I could see elements of the stories in her makeup—characters that had shaped the context of her world. There was a bit of Jane Eyre in her, a portion of Scout Finch and Jo March, a measure of Elinor Dashwood, and Lucy Pevensie. I was sure I would find more connections as I learned more about her.
It was like putting together a puzzle, one with hundreds of thousands of pieces, and no depiction of the complete image to serve as a guide. Time-consuming, with many false leads, but ultimately I would be able to see the whole picture.
She interrupted my thoughts. “Somewhere in Time. I love that movie. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it right away.”
It wasn’t one of my favorites. The idea that the two lovers could only be together in heaven after their deaths rubbed me the wrong way. I changed the subject.
“Tell me about the music you like.”
She paused to swallow again. And then, unexpectedly, she blushed.
“Well, I’m… not super musical, I guess. The Linkin Park CD was a gift from Phil. He’s trying to update my tastes.”
“What were you into, pre-Phil?”
She sighed, lifting her hands helplessly. “I just listened to what my mom had.”
“Classical music?”
“Sometimes.”
“And other times?”
“Simon and Garfunkel. Neil Diamond. Joni Mitchell. John Denver. That kind of thing. She’s like me—she listens to what her mother listened to. She liked to do sing-alongs on our road trips.” Suddenly the asymmetrical dimple appeared with her wide grin. “Remember those definitions of scary we talked about before?” She laughed. “Until you’ve heard my mom and me trying to hit the high notes in the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, you’ve never known true fear.”
I laughed with her, but wished I could see and hear that. I imagined her on a bright road, winding through the desert with the windows down, the sun bringing out the red shine in her hair. I wished I knew what her mother looked like, and even what kind of car it was, so my picture could be more precise. I wanted to be there with her, to listen to her sing badly, to watch her smile in the sun.
“Favorite TV show?”
“I don’t watch a lot of TV.”
I wondered if she was afraid to go into detail, worried again about me being bored. Maybe a few softball questions would relax her.
“Coke or Pepsi?”
“Dr Pepper.”
“Favorite ice cream?”
“Cookie dough.”
“Pizza?”
“Cheese. Boring but true.”
“Football team?
“Um, pass?”
“Basketball?”
She shrugged. “I’m not really a sports person.”
“Ballet, I guess. I’ve never been to the opera.”
I was not unaware that this list I was compiling had a use besides just learning to understand as much as I could of her. I was also learning things that might please her. Gifts I might give her. Places I could take her. Little things and bigger things. It was presumptuous in the extreme to imagine that I could ever have that kind of standing in her life. But how I wished.…
“What’s your favorite gemstone?”
“Topaz.” She said this in a decided way, but then her eyes suddenly tightened and red flushed across her cheekbones.
She’d done this before when I asked about scents. I’d let it go then, but not this time. I was sure the other unmet curiosity would torment me enough.
“Why does that make you… embarrassed?” I wasn’t sure I had the emotion right.
She shook her head quickly, staring down at her hands. “It’s nothing.”
“I’d like to understand.”
She shook her head again, still refusing to look at me.
“Please, Bella?”
“Next question.”
Now I was desperate to know. Frustrated.
“Tell me,” I insisted. Rudely. I felt ashamed at once.
She didn’t look up. She twisted a strand of her hair back and forth between her fingertips.
But she finally answered.
“It’s the color of your eyes today,” she admitted. “I suppose if you asked me in two weeks, I’d say onyx.”
Just as my favorite color was now a deep chocolate brown.